What Has Come Before
by artistical
Summary: This is a kind of prequel thing, of Jonathan and David's human life, told from David's point of view... Anyway, please read and enjoy! ALL RIGHTS GO TO RACHEL CAINE.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

I am sitting on the branch of a tree, back against the trunk, one leg straight out on the branch and the other dangling below. The sky is cloudless and vibrantly blue above, with a perfectly round sun shining, and a soft breeze blows, ruffling my hair and making the leaves of the tree I am sitting in wave around, creating dappled shadows on the grass below. The grass itself stretches out to a seemingly endless green expanse, dotted here and there with trees and vegetation. I look out to the distant horizon, and even though it is far away I can see the flat, sharp edge where the sky meets the land. I can feel the warmth of the sun through the thin white fabric of my shirt, a comforting feeling that can lull you easily to sleep. Up here in the tree, I can take refuge from everyday life, and have some peace for a change.

"David!"

I blink, snapping back to reality, look around, and almost fall out of the tree. I look down, and spot the source of the voice. It is Genevieve, a girl from my village, who, according to the rumours, has a soft spot for me. She is twenty years old, a few years younger than me. Today, her long dark hair, which is usually let loose to fall in waves down her back, is plaited and she is wearing a simple white dress, which compliments the olive tone of her skin. She shields her green eyes with a hand and looks up at me.

"Hello, Genevieve," I say, smiling down at her.

"Your mother sent these to you!" she calls, holding up a small woven basket, its contents covered with a plaid handkerchief.

I climb down a few branches, then jump off, landing lightly on my feet in front of her. "Thank you," I say, and retrieve the basket. I remove the handkerchief to reveal some buns. I take one, and bite into it. It is still warm from the oven and soft with a crunchy outer layer. I offer one to Genevieve. She accepts it, and we leave the meadow, heading towards the village.

Genevieve insists on walking with me to my house before she departs for her own. As we walk, we nibble on the buns. I catch Genevieve sneaking glances at me. As much as I like her, I do not like her the way she does me, which is why I usually try to avoid any conversation, as it could lead to awkward situations. My mother, however, thinks that Genevieve is a lovely girl and that I should hurry up and get married already.

I don't really agree with this. It's not that I don't like Genevieve; she just isn't… the one.

So we walk.

As we walk, I take time to notice the little details in our surroundings. The cracks in the stone pavement, the brightly coloured banners of the roadside stalls, the well-tended to gardens, and the Earth around us, the trees, the sky, which I'm told has some kind of a conscience. I can almost feel it, even though I know I'm just imagining it. I'm not Jonathan.

We live in quite a wealthy part of the village. My father, Cyrus, is the governor of this area. He owns a lot of the land around here, including the meadow where I was sitting in the tree earlier. Because of this, my house is quite large, and we are well known through the whole village. My father isn't known for being humble, though. He has quite high expectations of everything, including me.

Once we reach my house, Genevieve turns to me. She surprises me by saying, "Jonathan has been enlisted into the army."

I stare at her. "What?"

Genevieve bites her bottom lip. "I'm not sure whether it's true. It's just something I heard." Genevieve isn't actually close friends with Jonathan, but she does know him. So it makes sense that he wasn't the one who told her. I'm just surprised he didn't tell me.

Well, I hope to God that it isn't. I could ask my parents, but they disapprove of Jonathan and his… talents, attributing them to unnatural supernatural occurrences, as most people of this time would. They don't even like me spending so much time with him, as the previously mentioned "high expectations" also extend to friend choices, but I'm not exactly keen to meet their expectations. Putting Jonathan in the middle of war would be completely, utterly disastrous. What an interesting piece of news.

"Well, thank you," I reply, "Please let me know if you hear anything else. Good bye."

"Good bye," says Genevieve.

I turn to enter my house, and am about to, but I am stopped by a hand, which is gripping my wrist tightly. This hand belongs to Genevieve.

"David," she whispers, staring at me.

"Yes?" I ask.

She looks away quickly, hesitating for just a moment, and then turns back to me. "Please… Please promise me you won't go to the war, too."

I look at her, into her pleading eyes. So the rumours were true, after all. I just didn't think she, well, loved me this much. This was a complication I didn't really need at the moment.

"I know you fear for him, that it could be dangerous," she says.

I don't want to lie and tell her I promise. Jonathan is my best, and probably only, friend, and if he needs me to go with him, I would. He probably would need me—I know what Jonathan is and the significance he has to this world. For him to die would be horrific, and could risk lives, because the Earth itself could respond to his death, and what it could do was unimaginable. And that was just putting it mildly.

So instead, I tell Genevieve, "I can't," and look away.

"Okay," she whispers almost inaudibly, releases my wrist, which is now aching, and walks away.

As I shut the door, I think she is looking at me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I close the door, and Genevieve's expression flashes back into my head. Mouth turned down slightly at the corners, brow furrowed together in concern. And her eyes—intent and hopeful, piercing and green. I sigh, and slide down the door to sit on the floor. I put my head in between my knees just as the rain begins to fall, surprisingly, really, considering the cloudless blue the sky was this morning; accompanied by the loud boom of thunder. I hope Genevieve can make it home safely.

It was raining the night I saw Jonathan for the first time.

I was ten. Lying in bed that night and about to drift off to sleep, I was aroused by my parents' loud footsteps, yelling, and the roar of the rain outside. Curious, I got out of bed and exited my room, walking down the hallway to the front door.

There, I saw my parents, staring at… a boy. A boy around my age, with a tall, lanky figure, secretive dark eyes, and light brown hair that was dripping, flattened, and plastered to his forehead. He was soaking, wearing only a grey cotton shirt and brown shorts that didn't quite seem to fit. His feet were bare. He was standing outside, but my parents were inside out of the rain. They were fussing over him, trying to get him to come in, asking him who his parents were, wondering what he was doing out in the rain so late at night.

But Jonathan just stood there.

"What's your name, boy?" I heard my father ask him gruffly.

Jonathan seemed to notice for the first time that I was right there behind them. His eyes fixed on me as he said, "Jonathan. Who is he?"

"What?" said my father, and turned around. He saw me, and frowned. "David, you're supposed to be in bed."

"I know," I replied, "I just wanted to see what was going on."

My father gave me a frustrated look, but turned back to Jonathan. "Come in, boy," he said, which I found completely pointless because he had just asked Jonathan what his name was, and he did have one, "You're going to catch a cold standing out there."

For the first time, Jonathan grinned. "Oh, there's no need. The rain won't hurt me," he said, and did the impossible. The rain suddenly stopped hitting him and instead ricocheted off some invisible force field that extended about a foot from all around him.

My parents backed away, open mouthed. "What in the name of God?" my mother whispered.

Jonathan was still grinning, and now, looking at me, he evaporated the moisture from his hair, clothes and body. This made his hair stand up at odd angles.

"What are you _doing_?" my father asked incredulously.

"Oh, nothing," said Jonathan, "Just taking a walk in the rain, until you all saw me and rushed to my rescue. I was fine, really." He shrugged. "Well, I'll be on my way now. See you later, David." And with that, he sauntered off, completely dry under his air shield, oblivious to anyone staring at him.

I had watched him go, wondering when he would "see me later". As it turned out, he went to my school, and why I had never seen him before was beyond me. Drawn to him by his ironic, rebellious personality, we soon became friends.

I come back to the present, and take my head out from between my knees. I gingerly get up, stretching sore muscles. I look out the window next to the door. It is still raining and the droplets slide down the glass as they hit it. I stare at them. What would it feel like to control those droplets of rain so easily, to bend them to your will? I do not know, and probably never will.

That was part of what drew me to Jonathan. The promise of new things and the unknown. Something that I don't have much of, in my normal, everyday life.

I retreat to my bedroom and lie there for a while. I decline food that the maid, Sylvia, tries to bring to me, and take a nap, trying to distract myself from all the information I had learnt today. I wake up in the evening, and my stomach is rumbling. Fortunately, Sylvia taps on my door and announces that it is dinner time.

I get out of bed and pat down my auburn hair, tousled from my nap. I grab my white shirt from a chair nearby and throw it on. I look at myself in the mirror. I am presentable enough. My mother is a perfectionist and I hate it when she fusses over my appearance.

The dining room is further down the hallway. I walk down it, and it is silent. I also try to be silent, walking light-footedly. The flames from the torches cast a flickering light over everything, drawing out long shadows on the floor. It is still raining outside, and heavily, too, I can hear it hammering down on the roof. At this time, my house is always strangely eerie.

I walk into the dining room. My parents are there, waiting, and there are steaming hot dishes on the table that Sylvia has prepared. I pull out a chair and sit down.

"Hello, David," my mother says, "We haven't seen you all day."

"Well, I'm here now," I say, and start spooning food on to my plate. My mother frowns at me slightly, but also starts putting food on her plate. My father does the same.

We eat in silence. The roast lamb that Sylvia made is delicious, and so is the pumpkin soup. My mother breaks the silence by asking, "How was your day?"

I shrug. "It was okay."

My mother raises her eyebrows at me.

I raise mine back. "Did you know that Jonathan has been enlisted into the army?"

Her lips press into a thin line. "David, you know we do not like to associate ourselves with him and his family. He's, well, _unnatural_."

"Well he's my—" I start, in defence of Jonathan, but am interrupted by a sharp, though distant, knock on the front door.

"I wonder who that could be. Victoria, would you mind getting the door?" my father says to my mother.

She stands up and exits the dining room. A few moments later, we hear an ear-piercing scream.

I push my chair out and stand up, rattling the dishes and cutlery on the table. My father gives me a warning look, but I am already running outside, down the hallway, to the front door. My mother stands there, shocked. I push her out of the way.

It takes a while to register. The dark braid, matted with blood. The simple white dress, splotches of red marring its beauty. Her olive toned skin, her eyes, bright green as I know them, shut. The wound on her temple, her body limp.

Genevieve.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

I let out a strangled cry of alarm, and drop down on to the porch step, next to her. I put my head against her chest to check for a heart beat. There is one there, but it is faint. I scoop her up into my arms and hug her against me.

_I'm sorry, Genevieve, I should've gone out after you in the rain to make sure you got back safely…_

My shirt is stained with her blood and the rain turns it into pink running streaks down my shirt. I have a thought, and abandon Genevieve for a moment, running inside to get my boots. I streak past my father, to whom I must look like a madman, and once I retrieve and put on my boots, I run back outside just as quickly.

"Come on, we need to bring her inside, fix her up…" my mother prattles on hopelessly.

"I'm taking her to Jonathan," I say. I scoop Genevieve up into my arms the way I would a child, her head cradled against my chest.

My mother turns to look at me sharply. "What? No!" she yells, but it is useless, because I am already making my way to the stables where we keep our horses and carriages. "David!"

I am soaking wet by the time I get to the stables, and am grateful for the warmth as I walk in. What I am not grateful for, however, is the stench. I wrinkle my nose, promising myself that I will come clean this place later. I place Genevieve gently on the seat of a carriage, and attach it to a horse, which I climb on to. I guide the horse gently out into the rain, and get drenched all over again as the rain hits me. I look behind me briefly to make sure Genevieve is safe and dry within the carriage, and begin the ride to Jonathan's house.

Jonathan lives quite a distance away from my village. He lives alone, because he likes to stay isolated, and because his family is wealthy enough to afford two large houses.

I continue riding, cold and wet. As we leave the town, the stone paving turns to a mud road, and the horse's galloping sends mud splashing up on to my boots and pants. I squint into the rain, and plough ahead through the mud determinedly.

I reach Jonathan's house quite a while later, and by that time I am shivering uncontrollably. I jump off the horse and check on Genevieve before I bring her in. Is it just because I am really cold, or is she really burning with fever? One way to be sure, I have to bring her inside. I walk up the pathway to Jonathan's front door, carrying Genevieve in my arms once again.

I knock on the door, precariously balancing Genevieve with one arm and a knee, and am relieved to see that Jonathan is home. He opens the door, looks at me and Genevieve, and opens his mouth to say something but instead just shakes his head and lets us inside.

I carry Genevieve to the living room and lower her on to the sofa gently. Jonathan's house has a cosy, lived-in feeling, with the colour palette being of dark browns, warms reds and oranges. The living room even has a fireplace, which warms my cold body.

I hear a sigh from behind me. I turn around to see Jonathan looking at me.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?" he asks exasperatedly.

"I didn't do anything!" I say defensively. "We found her dumped on the porch steps. I don't know what happened to her."

Jonathan looks down at Genevieve. "Well, maybe she does, if we can get her to wake up."

"Could you heal her?" I ask. Jonathan raises an eyebrow at me. "Please?"

"Fine," sighs Jonathan, and gets down on one knee to assess her condition. He looks back up at me. "She's got a big cut on her temple, a broken arm, and her left ankle is fractured slightly. She's also got a fever, and if I don't treat her now, she could die of infection."

I don't know how he can sound so methodical and detached about it. "Well, hurry up and heal her, then!" I yell.

Jonathan glances at me like I'm crazy, but bends over and starts to heal Genevieve. Golden light, which I know is the very power of the Earth itself, spills from his fingers to wrap around Genevieve's body, to fix her. I watch, entranced by this display, because I haven't seen it many times before. It was interesting to watch Jonathan so focused and set on task, so different from the man I know, the one with the sharp tongue and sarcastic humour.

After a few moments, the golden light disappears. Jonathan gets up, wipes the sweat from his brow, and leaves the room. He returns with a wet cloth, and begins to carefully wipe the blood from Genevieve's temple. When it is gone, all I can see is a long, thin, faded scar. She is sleeping peacefully.

"I burned the infection out of her blood," Jonathan tells me, "And the wound on her temple is fixed, as are her broken and fractured bones. She just needs to be careful when using her arm and that leg for a while."

There is silence. We watch each other, both assessing the other's emotions. Knowing each other so well can be a disadvantage sometimes—Jonathan can tell I want to ask him something, because he raises his eyebrows at me. After spluttering indignantly and procrastinating for a few moments, I finally gather up the courage to ask him the question to which I've wanted to know the answer so long.

I open my mouth, and break the silence. "Is it true that you've been enlisted into the army?"

Jonathan stares at me, clearly shocked by this.

"Well? Is it true?" I demand.

Jonathan looks away. "No. I wasn't enlisted. I volunteered."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"You _what?_" I whisper, not quite sure whether I heard him right.

"I volunteered," Jonathan replies, still not looking at me.

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment, not quite sure what to think. Then the anger really hits me.

I stand up. "Jonathan," I say tightly, trying to contain my anger. "Do you _know_ what you have just done?"

I can see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Yes, and I'm not changing my mind."

"Well, of course you don't know then!" I yell at him. He visibly flinches, but tries to hide it. "Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself? Are you aware that all the people out there could die if you get killed?" I gesture outside, to the world beyond the window.

"Yes," he says, finally looking at me. There is a shine to his dark eyes that can only be anger; anger at himself and anger at the world in general.

"Jonathan," I say through gritted teeth. "I do not _care_ what you think, but I am not letting you go out there, sacrifice yourself, and risk tens of thousands of lives just for your own personal benefit. God, I don't even know why you're doing this!" I throw my hands up into the air, and then sink down into an armchair. I clutch my head in my hands, and let out a groan of frustration.

Genevieve chooses this moment to wake up. "What's… all the yelling… about?" she says groggily, and looks around. Blinking, she sees Jonathan and I. Her eyes focus on me, and she frowns. "David? Where am I?"

"In Jonathan's house," I say.

"What am I doing here?" she asks suspiciously.

I look to Jonathan for help, but he doesn't look back at me. Instead, he says to Genevieve, "David says he found you on his porch steps. Do you know what happened?"

Genevieve frowns and thinks for a moment. "I think… I think there was a carriage…" she mumbles.

Jonathan finally looks at me, arching an eyebrow. I know we're both thinking the same thing. She was hit by a carriage and left at the nearest house because the driver was too much of a coward to face up to the authorities. Well, that was her mystery solved. I have no intentions of letting the carriage driver go unpunished, but now is not the time for that issue.

"Are you hungry?" Jonathan asks her.

"Now that I think about it… Yes," admits Genevieve.

"I'll be back," says Jonathan, and leaves the room. It seems that Genevieve has not forgotten that her previous question has gone unanswered, because she looks at me again.

"David, what am I really doing here?" she asks.

"We were getting your… injuries fixed," I say.

Genevieve puts her hand to her temple, where the long, thin scar is. "But how?" she says with a puzzled expression on her face. "Wasn't I just injured? How did I heal this fast?"

"Err," I begin, but fortunately, Jonathan enters the room with a bowl of warm soup.

"Here," he says, handing the bowl to Genevieve.

"Thank you," she says shyly, begins to sip the soup, and shoots me a look that implies that I'm going to have to give her a straight answer sooner or later.

"Jonathan," I say. "Could we go talk in private for a moment?"

Jonathan glares at me, but stands up anyway and says, "Excuse us, Genevieve." He walks out of the room and into the kitchen. I follow him.

"Genevieve is wondering how she managed to heal so quickly," I tell him.

Jonathan shrugs. "Well, it is your fault for bringing her to me." I glare at him. He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine, I can wipe her memory of the accident and her time here if you want me to."

"No!" I say quickly. Jonathan stares at me. "I mean, no. I don't want you to do that to her."

"You can't keep lying to her," he says very unhelpfully.

"I know," I sigh, and look away.

Once again, Jonathan knows this is not all I want to talk about. I can see him in the corner of my eye, looking at me questioningly.

"You do know that if you don't change your mind about going to the war, I will go with you," I say, making it a statement.

He looks at me for a long, hard moment, and then shakes his head. "No," he says. "I am not changing my mind, but you are not, under any circumstances, coming with me."

"Remember what I said earlier about what could happen if you died?" I ask. He doesn't reply. "I have to keep that from happening, Jonathan. And the only way I can make sure of that is to be there to protect you."

Jonathan leans against the wall, and rubs his temples with a hand, as if he has a headache. "If I promise you that I won't die," he says, "Will you stay here?"

"No," I say. "Because you can't guarantee that."

Jonathan makes a frustrated noise, and stalks out of the kitchen, back into the living room. I follow calmly. Genevieve has finished her soup, and is now looking us curiously.

"Come on, Genevieve, we're leaving," I say, and help her up, because Jonathan had said that she had to be careful with her arm and leg for a few days.

"Um, okay," Genevieve says. "Good bye, Jonathan."

"Good bye," Jonathan says, and escorts us to the door. He opens it, and just before we leave, I turn around to him, and whisper quickly into his ear so quietly that Genevieve cannot hear me.

"We will discuss this later."

He raises an eyebrow, but all he says is, "Good bye, David."

"Good bye, Jonathan," I say curtly, and he shuts the door.

The rain has cleared, and it is only drizzling slightly now. I support Genevieve as she hobbles back to the carriage, and lift her inside. I climb on to the horse, and we ride back. Despite the large puddles and the muddy road, the journey is much easier, because the rain is no longer obscuring my vision. This time, I am going to drop Genevieve at her house to make sure there are no accidents.

I help Genevieve out of the carriage and make sure she gets to her front door. As I am turning around to leave, she asks, "I know something strange is going on. Please tell me what it is."

I turn around. "It's best that you don't know."

"Okay," she says, not in an accepting way, but in a way that implies she is determined to find out more, just not now. "Good bye, David."

"Good bye, Genevieve," I climb back on to my horse, and depart for home.

Why is it that whenever I turn my back, it always feels as though she is watching me?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I ride back to the stables, empty carriage dragging behind me. When I enter, I wrinkle my nose at the stench again; feeling more determined to come clean the stables. I store the carriage and lock the horse in its own little part of the stables, and give it a pat on the head. It looks at me questioningly with its large, brown eyes, and whinnies, oblivious to the problems at hand. I leave, and walk to my house.

When I come in the front door, my mother is there, looking at me hostilely. I walk pass her, as she does not ask any questions or yell at me, and go straight to my bedroom. There, I take off my wet, stained shirt, hang it over a chair to dry, stumble tiredly to my bed, and collapse into a troubled sleep.

_Jonathan walks the battlefield, amid the corpses of fallen men, trailing fire behind him, burning everything in his path, wreaking havoc and destruction. This may seem normal, as he has control over fire—but it is not. He is not controlling the fire, but made of it. His eyes are dark as night and seem to contain the secrets of the universe. He is a creature of fire. He is the keeper of the world._

I awake with a gasp, and shake my head to clear the images of Jonathan walking along and burning things from my mind. I look around the room. Sunlight is filtering in through the thin curtains. I get up, push the curtains to the side, and look outside. Judging by the position of the sun, it is already midday. Had I really slept for that long?

The events of the previous day catch up to me when I reach for my white shirt, no longer white, but dirtied with pink and brown streaks and stains. Genevieve's news for me. Her turning up on my porch steps wounded and unconscious. Jonathan's confession that he had volunteered. Nightmares in my troubled sleep. I withdraw my hand from the shirt, shuddering, and instead reach into my wardrobe for a new one, as well as new pants and underwear.

I get dressed quickly, planning the day ahead of me at the same time. First I am going to find Genevieve. I pull on my muddy boots and leave the house, not bothering to go to the dining room for lunch, and jog to Genevieve's house. The sky is mercilessly clear again, just like yesterday morning. But, as I learnt yesterday, that could change very rapidly. The street is very busy, buzzing with activity and the excitement of the trade. So many people, going about daily life, unaware of the disaster that looms above them if Jonathan doesn't change his mind. I keep jogging.

I arrive at Genevieve's house breathless, and tap on the door. It opens to reveal her mother. She looks just like an older version of Genevieve, or maybe Genevieve looks like a younger version of her. The only difference is that Genevieve's mother has warm brown eyes, whereas Genevieve inherited her father's sharp, bright green ones.

"Hello, David," she says, smiling at me.

"Hello, Maria," I say, calling her by her first name as she made me give up on formality a while ago. "Do you mind if I take Genevieve somewhere today?"

"No, not at all. I'll go get her," she pauses before turning to go inside. "Thank you, by the way. For helping her yesterday," she says quickly, glancing at me, then hurries inside to get Genevieve.

A few moments later, Genevieve comes to the front door. She seems to have recovered from her injuries. Her hair is out today, and she wears a pale green long-sleeved dress which accentuates the colour of her eyes. She smiles.

"Hello, David," she says. "So where are we going today?"

"You'll see," I say.

She grins, skips down the steps and joins me in walking to our mystery destination.

I look over at Genevieve as we walk. She seems so bright and bubbly today. Is this really the same girl from yesterday morning, who nearly pleaded that I not go to the war? The same serious, focused girl who wanted to know the truth after we departed from Jonathan's house? Everybody seems to have so many sides.

Our mystery destination is actually a small beach, at the coastal area of the village. Genevieve claps her hands over her mouth with delight when we arrive. Not many people know about the beach, because the coastal area is mainly rocks, and also because Jonathan was the one who made it, in a demonstration of his Earth power, by hollowing out a section in the rocks so that the beach was secluded, and changing the rocks into sand.

The beach is as picturesque as beaches come—soft, pale yellow sand, the occasional colourful sea shell, clear blue miniature rolling waves lapping at the land. I sit down on the sand. Genevieve squeals happily, hitches her skirt up, and walks into the sea. As the first wave hits her feet, she gasps.

"Genevieve," I say, interrupting her excitement. She turns around the face me, smiling widely. "I… I owe you an apology for yesterday. For not making sure you got home safely."

The smile disappears from her face, and her expression softens. She walks over to me. I open my mouth to speak, but she places a finger over my lips.

"It's okay. It was my fault for looking around at the stalls in the rain before I actually got enough sense to think about going home," she says quietly. "You don't have to say sorry. You already made it up to me by caring enough to make sure I got better."

I look at her, aware of the conflicting emotions inside me. Genevieve seems to sense this. She leans in, kisses me lightly, just a brush of lips, a promise of more, and draws back. I put my hand to my lips in shock, and feel the heat rising to my cheeks. Genevieve looks at me shyly.

For the first time in my life, I am completely, utterly speechless.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I continue to stare at Genevieve, bemused. The abashed look on her face begins to disappear after a while.

"David?" she asks, puzzled. "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

I shake my head.

"Well, okay," she says, not sounding very convinced.

I finally find my voice. "No, Genevieve, its okay," I reassure her. "It's just; I have a lot of… situations on my mind at the moment. That was just a bit… different."

"Right," she says, and looks away at the sea. There is a long, awkward silence.

I break it by saying, "I guess we should get going now."

"Okay," Genevieve says quietly.

I get up, brushing sand from my pants, and we leave the peaceful, secluded beach. We don't talk, although Genevieve keeps looking like she wants to say something, and there is still awkwardness between us. I take this time to reflect on what just happened.

Does Genevieve truly feel that way about me? If so, why would she? I have made it pretty clear by the way I act towards her that we are just friends. Maybe she has misinterpreted my actions. There are so many questions that I would like to know the answers to, but I guess I never will.

When we get to Genevieve's house, we say our goodbyes. She surprises me yet again by saying, "I love you, no matter what," and shutting the door before I can utter a reply. Not that I would be able to.

I stand there staring at the door in amazement for a while. Then I shake my head to clear the mixed up thoughts and walk home, still slightly bemused.

My stomach is rumbling by the time I walk in the front door. Since my parents probably already have finished lunch, it doesn't seem necessary for me to go to the dining room, so I decide to go scavenge for food in the kitchen instead.

I know before I enter that my mother would have predicted my actions and be waiting for me in the kitchen when I got home. And I am right. She stands there, lips pursed into a thin line, her face pale, watching me like I am some wild animal.

"David," she says tightly. "I haven't seen you since yesterday night. It's been quite a worrying experience."

I shrug, open a cupboard, and find some bread. I take it out and cut it with a knife on a kitchen, trying not to show how anxious I am as I chew the bread contemplatively. Cold, calculated, and uncaring. Just like Jonathan.

"Well, you're going to have to get used to that," I say, and now it is the moment of truth, to say what I've been thinking about since last night, when I left Jonathan's house. "I've been thinking of going independent."

"What?" my mother says.

"I'm going to go find my own place in the world," I say. "Mother, what would you say if I told you I was going to volunteer for the war?"

"That is an absolutely—"

"I thought so," I raise my eyebrows, and eat the last bit of bread. "And that is why I don't need your opinion. Good bye, Mother."

And with that, I turn on my heel and walk out the kitchen, down the hall, and out the front door.

My mother does not even try to stop me.

As soon as I am out of the house, I start sprinting. I push past everyone who is in my way. The world turns into a blur of colours and noises around me, until it is all in the background. All I can hear is my own panting and the light impact of my feet on the floor. After a while, my lungs start to burn and my legs start to ache, but I continue running anyway. I am soon transported into another place, into a memory.

When I was fifteen, I attempted to run away from home. I don't exactly remember the reason, but I know it was something foolish and childish, compared to what I am running for and from today.

It was night time, and when I was sure my parents were asleep, I snuck out the window in my bedroom with a satchel of clothes and food and began to run. I wasn't sure where I was going to go, but while I was running, it was all about the thrill and the adrenaline, the fact that I had smelt the sweet scent of freedom.

Somehow, my running took me to Jonathan's old house, a lot further from my house than the one he currently lives in. This is the house that his parents live in now. That I went there probably showed I didn't have enough determination to actually take it the whole way. Wheezing and with black spots dancing in front of my eyes, I knocked on the door, and then sat down on the porch.

Jonathan opened it, towering over me from my position on the porch, his dark eyes assessing my situation. With no questions asked, he let me in. I spent the night at his house, and in the morning his parents made a big fuss of me and returned me home, where more fussing occurred. The next day at school, Jonathan had told me that he understood what I felt that night, that need to escape captivity. That you just had to be strong enough to endure it.

Even now, eight years later, I find myself drawn to Jonathan. I soon find myself taking the path that I took yesterday, only on foot. I don't slow down for anything.

This time, when I arrive at his door, I am not quite as exhausted as I was that night eight years ago. I knock sharply on his door, panting slightly.

Jonathan opens the door straight away, as if he has predicted that I will be coming and has been waiting by the door the whole time. He raises his eyebrows at me. I'm coming to him for refuge again, except this time I'm not going back. I give him a tight smile in return.

"What brings you here, David?" he asks.

"Jonathan," I say. "I've come to tell you my decision. I'm going to the war with you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"You can't," Jonathan says immediately, and attempts to shut the door in my face. I jam my foot in the space between the door and the frame at the last moment. The door slams against my foot, hard. I make a sound of pain.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and opens the door again. I withdraw my foot, now throbbing painfully. The thin leather does not offer much in the way of protection.

"Well, are you going to let me in or not?" I ask. Jonathan mutters under his breath but moves away from the door frame. I enter the house, and he shuts the door. We are now facing each other in the narrow hallway.

"You're not coming with me, David," he says, and makes it a statement. Almost an order. Except he is not superior to me, and I will not let this throw me.

"Yes, I am," I say stubbornly. "You promised me a long time ago that we'd stay together and watch each other's backs, always. As brothers, Jonathan. I cannot let you do this alone."

Jonathan's eyes flicker to the ground quickly and back up again. I know he is remembering that night when I came to him. When we lay in the dark, he on his bed and I on the floor on an old mattress, and he told me that he would respect me as more than a friend, as a brother, as family, and he would be watching my back. Always. I told him the same.

Now was the time to make that count.

"Stop coming up with valid arguments," Jonathan says in mock-anger, but then turns serious again. "I don't care. You are not coming. I'm doing you a favour here."

"No, you're not," I reply angrily. "If you go yourself, you're going to get killed. If I go with you, that risk is reduced by at least half. And if you get killed anyway… It's all over." I soften my voice. "I never found out why you intend to go."

Jonathan mumbles something unintelligibly, looks down at the floor with sudden interest.

"What was that?" I say, raising my eyebrows inquisitively.

"God, David, will you stop it already?" he looks back up at me, eyes shining with anger. "I'm going… because I want to prove to myself that I can be something_ else_." He says quickly, and stalks off to some other area of the house, leaving me staring after him.

_Of course… He's not going to use his powers when he goes out there. He's going to fight without them. He's going to fight… like an ordinary man. To prove… that he _is_ one._

I cannot believe I didn't realise this earlier. Of course, this only fuels my determination to go with him. Nothing is going to stop me.

I hear some loud noises from the back of the house, and decide to leave Jonathan alone for a while. I leave the house, and close the door behind me silently.

I decide to take a stroll over to the registration building, just to make my decision official. It is situated in the main part of the village, which means it is a while away from Jonathan's house. I do have a lot of time to spare.

I think of Genevieve on the way there, about how she will react to my decision. Will she be sad? Will she accept my decision? Will she be happy for me, defending our country? I think of her eyes, those bright green eyes that show so much emotion. What will they show if she knows of this? I chase the thoughts from my head. It does not matter, I tell myself. I am not… in love with her. This is merely a one sided affair.

Or is it?

My train of thought is disrupted as I see the registration building looming ahead. It is large and imposing, the tall mahogany doors shut. I know it is open, though, because just as I am about to knock, a man opens the door, startling me. He has some parchment in his hand. I assume he has just registered voluntarily, or maybe he was enlisted and was there collecting his documents. I take a deep breath and walk in.

There is a long hall ahead. I walk along it, my footsteps echoing off the walls, which, combined with the emptiness of the place, makes them seem louder than they actually are. There are doors to my right, and various framed articles of writing on the wall to my left. I continue walking until I reach the door labelled "Army Services". I open it.

Inside, at a desk, sits a man who I assume is in charge. He signs documents, not looking up as I approach him.

"Hello," I say cautiously. "I'm here to… register. For the army."

He looks up at me. "Volunteer?"

"Yes."

"Name?"

"David, son of Cyrus."

He grabs a thick book from the corner of his desk and begins to flick through it. I know that this is the book that contains the names of all the men who have come of age to be in the army.

The man looks back up at me with a surprised expression. "Are you the governor's son?" he asks.

"Yes," I say.

He shrugs. "Well, okay," he says, but seems a bit suspicious. He looks around before saying, "Did he make you do this?"

"No," I say.

"Does he know you're doing this?" he asks.

I sigh. "Honestly, I don't know."

"I know where you're coming from," he says, patting my hand. I stare at him, bemused. Does he really? But he is already writing something down on a sheet of parchment. He hands it to me, and marks my name off in the big book.

"Thank you, sir," I say, and give him an awkward little nod. It seems he has gone back to not noticing me, because he doesn't reply. I leave the room, and then the registration building, shutting the door silently behind me, as to not disturb the silence of the place.

The sun starts to set as I walk back to Jonathan's house, painting the sky in beautiful colours of maroon, orange, purple, and yellow, and drawing out long shadows on the ground. Usually, I would take my time to admire this display. But this time, I can only think of one thing.

It's official.

I am going to the war.


End file.
